


Comfort

by J_E_McCormickGal



Series: Say Nothing Of It [8]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Say Nothing Of It, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 22:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_E_McCormickGal/pseuds/J_E_McCormickGal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When Jehan comes into the cafe, they can instantly tell there’s something not quite right. The reaction to this is instant; the group are all extremely fond of their resident poet and with his shy smiles and beautiful words missing, they all instantly gravitate towards him in the hopes of cheering him up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> For this one, you're gonna want my headcanons on Jehan:  
> http://excessively-english-little-b.tumblr.com/post/44251066894/headcanons-relating-to-comfort-on-a-seperate  
> http://excessively-english-little-b.tumblr.com/post/43836319566/jehan-looks-next-up-for-my-character-development

When Jehan comes into the cafe, they can instantly tell there’s something not quite right. He’s picking agitatedly at his shirt, shifting and fidgeting in his seat, like he doesn’t feel right in his own skin. He keeps letting down his hair, threading his fingers through it, braiding it, and then putting it back up, and today he’s missing his usual ribbon. His clothes don’t clash horribly, and they are duller and more plain than usual, missing their flower-print and not in his usual colours. He looks, in a word, uncomfortable.

The reaction to this is instant; the group are all extremely fond of their resident poet and with his shy smiles and beautiful words missing, they all instantly gravitate towards him in the hopes of cheering him up. Feuilly pulls him over to sit next to him, saying that he’s certain Jehan will like the new fan he’s working on for his latest commission, and that he knows the poet is fond of watching him work. Jehan manages a weak smile, and sits beside him obediently; taking down his hair and braiding the front portion before tying it back up again as he does so.

The next time he takes it down again Bahorel ends up stood behind him and working it into a plait – Bahorel defends himself with the excuse that he has a little sister who used to pester him to help her do her hair, so he knows how to put hair into plaits and braids and buns and all manner of things. He jokes gently that if Jehan wants to do something with his hair other than his usual plain ponytail, all he needs to do is ask because his attempts at doing it himself are pathetic. Jehan smiles and lets him continue, the feeling of Bahorel’s strong but gentle fingers tugging his hair into place somewhat calming.

At this point Jehan is relaxing slightly, and smiling, but he still fidgets incessantly. Combeferre comes over and asks gently if there’s anything the matter with him, in that calm and understanding way that he does, to which Jehan blushes and averts his eyes.

“It’s nothing.” He assures.

Enjolras at this point intervenes, reminding Jehan that he can tell them anything as long as he’s comfortable with it. Jehan smiles but shakes his head, telling them he’s just having “one of those days” and that he hopes to be right as rain soon enough. When Combeferre leaves the table to look over a leaflet with Enjolras, Courfeyrac takes his place, draping himself over Jehan and watching Feuilly over his shoulder. He eventually ends up pulling Jehan into his lap, his chin resting on his shoulder, arms around his waist, occasionally turning to blow air on his neck until the poet starts giggling and protesting, and then he’s rewarded with a quick peck to his cheek. Sometimes he bounces his knees, like a parent does to a young child, and it’s obvious that he’s trying his best to elicit any sort of laughter from Jehan, and it’s definitely working.

Joly and Bossuet call him over then, and as he leaves Courfeyrac whines over-dramatically, crying something about “who’s going to sit in my lap and recite pretty poetry to me?” before Grantaire tumbles clumsily into Jehan’s place with a smirk and recites what he’s pretty sure is dirty Greek poetry. Courfeyrac pushes him off with a laugh and a friendly jibe of “You’re not as sweet, nor as light.”, to which Grantaire sticks his tongue out, says something about not being appreciated, and makes himself comfortable on the floor. Joly and Bossuet, it turns out, want recommendations for poems because Musichetta’s birthday is coming up and she’s confessed to a soft spot for it, and they know Jehan is the resident expert. There’s also mention of flowers, of which Jehan is the resident expert of also, and so they spend a while discussing meanings and verses.

He walks back to his dorm with Feuilly, who doesn’t have a night-shift tonight and is sounding very relieved about that fact. Jehan is playing with the end of his plait, and Feuilly pulls out a length of ribbon that he says is left over from some project or another, and ties it in, and Jehan beams. They get into the dorm and Jehan showers first, and when he returns wearing his usual nightshirt, he looks more like his normal self. He re-plaits his hair, and although the ribbon doesn’t go back on he lays it on his bedside table next to some of his others. When Feuilly comes in from his shower, Jehan is staring thoughtfully at his hands as they twist in his lap, and he almost worries again that their attempts to cheer him up didn’t work, but then Jehan looks up, gives him a soft smile, and offers a quiet explanation.

“My visit home didn’t go so well.” He says, and Feuilly makes a sympathetic face and hugs him tightly because he knows what it feels like for your parents to not understand you, to not accept you, and when he pulls away Jehan still looks sad, still looks hurt, but he knows that the poet will bounce right back. Jehan pulls out his favourite t-shirt, a pastel thing with pale roses on it, and his lilac jeans, and it looks so much more like Jehan that Feuilly smiles. They’re folded at the end of the bed, set and ready to be worn the next day, and some of the tension that’s been surrounding Jehan fades away. As he climbs into bed and whispers a soft goodnight, he looks far more at ease.


End file.
